Flying Shadow
by Graphospasm
Summary: Hoping to reclaim her strength in order to dance again, Christine begins to take martial arts classes at a dojo. There she meets a man who is not what he seems. A reimagining of The Phantom of the Opera, Yu Yu Hakusho style. AU. ChristinexHiei.


Flying Shadow

Chapter 01:

"Entr'acte"

* * *

Neither Yusuke not Kuwabara quite knew why they were there. After all, the situation was highly irregular; Koenma rarely, if ever, called them into Spirit World itself for something as simple as a debriefing. The sheer incongruousness of the situation led Yusuke in particular to think they were going to get, as he so eloquently put, "balls deep in some Spirit World shit pretty soon." Kuwabara couldn't agree more.

In any case: there they were, standing around in Koenma's office like a pair of useless bookends. Yusuke was getting fed up with waiting and, as per his usual custom of acting out when he is displeased, he began to get ideas.

"Now where does he keep that remote?" he said, rounding Koenma's huge (and currently empty) desk. He threw open all the drawers he could find with a grin, searching.

"What are you gonna do?" Kuwabara said, coming after Yusuke. He began to pull open drawers too, not wanting to miss out on the fun.

"Watch TV. Maybe order something on pay per view. You know, cause a ruckus." He straightened up with a cry of "Gotcha!" and slammed the drawer shut. Then he fell into Koenma's swivel chair and propped his feet up on the desk. A flake of mud—it was raining in Human World; the pair was still damp and dirty—fell from his tennis shoe to the tabletop. Yusuke managed to turn the TV on, but the rest of the remote was so complex that all he managed to play on the screen was static.

Kuwabara leaned his hip against the desk, hands jammed into his pockets. "Oooh, dude, play something dirty so his dad gets mad."

"Good idea!" said Yusuke, jamming at the buttons.

"What's a good idea?"

Yusuke and Kuwabara froze, heads turning as one toward the door. Koenma, child king and ruler of the Spirit World, stood in the shadow of a blue ogre roughly the size of a mastodon.

"Hey guys!" said George the Ogre, waving at them and smiling a smile that showed far too many happy teeth. Koenma viciously stepped on the monster's heel, causing him to yelp in pain and fall over.

"I suggest you drop the remote, Yusuke," Koenma said darkly, "you're about to press the 'tsunami' button and I am in no mood to clean up after it. Also, get out of my seat."

Yusuke gingerly set the remote down and stood up. He and Kuwabara moved in front of the desk while Koenma sat down. George, meanwhile, was recovering from his stubbed toe, and he limped to Koenma's side with a pout.

"You're probably wondering why you're here," said Koenma, and he picked up the remote. The TV blinked once before showing a building from above and slightly to the left.

"Is that a theatre?" Yusuke asked, squinting at the image. Rows of glass doors sat beneath a huge white billboard, blank but for a few black letters Yusuke couldn't make out due to pixilation, and the rest of the building was made of shiny black stone.

"It was, once," said Koenma. The picture changed to a nighttime view, showing limousines and people in fine dresses idling in front of the place, whch had been lit up like a Christmas tree. "Ballet, opera, plays—even film premieres were shown here in its day."

"So, do you want tickets or something?" Kuwabara asked, obviously wondering why the hell they were staring at pictures of an old building.

"No," Koenma snapped. "No, I don't. It has a different use nowadays, anyway."

Yusuke let out a dramatic sigh. "OK, I get it, we've gotta go in there and clear out all the demons, blah blah blah, why the hell did you drag us up here just to tell us that? A video or a word from Botan would have been fine!" He turned to the door, ready to storm out. "A waste of a day, that's what this is, and—"

"That's not what I need," said Koenma. He hopped up and stood on the desk. Yusuke turned back around. "You're were almost right, Yusuke, but it would do you well to listen before making assumptions. There _is_ a demon living in this building's basement, but he is not to be exterminated."

"But that's what we _do_," Kuwabara protested. "We're not rehabilitators or counselors. We kick butt. That's it."

"Says the man in a top-tier school who can cut dimensions," Yusuke teased.

"Focus," Koenma said. "This demon is a strong one, but his reasons for being in the Human World are unclear. He has not killed or injured any humans in the entire two years he's been down there, nor has he attempted to enslave them. In fact, I'd call him a recluse. Only a few people have ever seen him."

"Then what's the big deal?" Yusuke asked, brow furrowing. "He doesn't bother anyone, he's not dangerous, and he's on your most wanted list? That doesn't make sense."

"He's _not_ on my most wanted list," Koenma snapped. "That's the point. I can't act on him simply being there. I want you to find out what his deal is so I _can_ put him on my most wanted list."

"Makes sense, I guess," said Kuwabara, "but why us? We're not used to this kind of job."

Koenma climbed back into his chair, looking more serious than ever. "I chose the two of you because this mission could turn out to be of the personal nature." He looked up. "Specifically _you_, Yusuke. Recognize that theater?"

Yusuke studied it, scratching the back of his neck, and he said: "Should I?"

Koenma's shoulders dropped as he sighed. "You wouldn't, would you?" he said, and he hit another button on the remote. The picture zoomed in on the lettering above the door.

"Takeru's School of Martial Arts, it said, and beneath that it proclaimed: "Setsuko's School for the Art of Dance."

Yusuke, to his credit, seemed to recognize the words, but he couldn't place them. "Why does that sound so familiar?" he murmured, walking close to the screen with his hand on his chin, and that's when Kuwabara spoke up.

"Dude, Keiko does ballet there!" he said, walking forward so he could whack Yusuke across the head. "Some boyfriend you are!"

Yusuke punched Kuwabara in the stomach; the taller boy staggered to the side with a groan, but he recovered within a few seconds.

"I knew that was it!" he said, elated, and then he looked horrified. "Holy shit, Keiko—"

"—could be in danger," Koenma finished grimly. "I told you this one was personal."

* * *

She looked at them like they were crazy. "You want to tour my dance studio," she repeated, "to see if it's infested with termites. Really, Yusuke, I didn't know you'd picked up a job with the exterminators."

"Yeah, it's kind of a new deal," he said, grinning and rubbing the back of his neck to cover his discomfort. Kuwabara, beside him, just stared at the ceiling. "You gotta prove your worth by bringing in a client, I know it's stupid, but—"

"You're a lousy liar, Yusuke," Keiko said, not really angry at all. She was used to this, and Yusuke gave a nervous chuckle when he realized she wasn't buying a word of his story. "Just tell me why you really want to go. It's Koenma, isn't it?"

Yusuke would have kept on fibbing had Kuwabara not stepped up to the plate.

"Yeah, it is Koenma," he said, serious and up-front. "Apparently there's a demon living in the basement of your studio. We need to go check it out."

Keiko snorted. "Koenma's wrong. There isn't any demon—"

"Yeah there is!" said Yusuke hotly.

"—it's just the studio ghost."

The boys blinked at her.

"'Ghost'?"

Keiko nodded, but then she got called away to another table. The three of them had been sitting in Keiko's parents' restaurant; Keiko was working as a waitress that day since school was out for the weekend, and the boys had been eating the food her parents made. (For free, of course—they loved Yusuke, the old childhood friend, and Kuwabara was a smart young man going to a great highschool. What's not to love?) When she came back from serving up a few noodle bowls she swept the bandana off her head and mopped her face with it.

"What were we talking about?"

"The ghost," Yusuke said, and when she shot him a blank look he said: "You know, the ghost. The one at your studio."

"Oh, him," she said with a sigh. "The younger dancers always blame him when things go wrong. Missing shoes, broken lights… everything's his fault."

"You don't believe in that, do you?" Kuwabara said. "I mean, ghosts are scary and stuff, but to blame one for everything is just… they can't even interact with humans that aren't psychic!"

But Keiko didn't back down. "This one can," she said. "I was messing around on the stage after practice one night and I saw him up on the catwalk." When the boys looked disbelieving she repeated: "I saw him. With my own two eyes."

"What did he look like?" asked Yusuke.

Keiko shrugged. "Like a black shape flying around in the rafters." And then, in a gesture that was not very much like herself at all, Keiko shivered. "But his eyes were there. They burned into me. It was like they could see… everything."

Yusuke and Kuwabara exchanged dark looks. Their food had gone cold.

"Well, I have rehearsal tomorrow," Keiko said, standing and picking up their plates. "Meet me here at two. We'll walk together."

"Thanks," said Yusuke, catching her arm so he could tug her to his level. He kissed her cheek. She rolled her eyes, but a smile ghosted at the corner of her mouth.

* * *

"This place is a lot bigger in person," Kuwabara said as he, Yusuke, and Keiko walked up the steps leading to the front doors. "Like, a _lot_ bigger."

"Used to be pretty famous," Keiko said as she led them inside. Cold air blossomed across their skin; the lobby stretched wide around them, and on each far side of it was a sweeping staircase made of silver marble. Three sets of huge wooden doors stood in front of them behind an empty concessions booth. The color scheme seemed to be silver and wood, for what it's worth.

Keiko adopted the tone of a person used to explaining the building to outsiders. "Now there's one big theater in the middle and a whole city of dressing and prop and rehearsal rooms behind it. We use the bigger ones as practice areas. The upper levels lead to the boxes and the balcony and the center catwalks. Below the stage is a big prop storage area, and then there's the basement." Her voice faltered on the last word.

"And that's where we need to go," Yusuke said. "Just take us down there and we'll do our thing."

Keiko raised an eyebrow. "You'll get lost," she said.

"Then you can show us around."

"_I'll_ get lost."

Yusuke's face was a study in confusion. "Then who _can_ show us around?"

"No one. Nobody uses the basement."

They stared at her. She shrugged.

"There are just about a million levels down there; some of them are flooded, and others are too dangerous to get through. The owners lost the maps a long time ago." She smiled. "That's how they got such a good price on this place, though. Who knows what's down there?" Her smile faded. "And besides… that's where people see the ghost the most."

Silence fell over the group, but it was not complete. Every shift and shuffle echoed across the marble lobby, shivering and cold, and with a gingerness Kuwabara did not know the reason for he stretched out a tendril of his spirit energy. He pulled it back in very quickly.

"Don't try anything with your energy, Yusuke," the psychic said, rubbing his temples. "The marble in here just bounces it back. Christ, I had no idea sheets of rock could do that."

"What? Let me try!"

Yusuke, unlike Kuwabara, did not possess much control. He loosed a volley of small blasts that ricocheted right back, slamming into him like a rubber band pulled taut and then released without any delicacy. His head reeled, making him stumble. Keiko caught him by the arm.

"Well, my spirit gun would wreck shit in here," he said, trying not to scare Keiko by showing any weakness. However, she saw that neither of her trusted psychic boys were entirely comfortable in the lobby, so she decided with the wisdom of a caring girlfriend to move them along and away.

"I can show you around," she offered. "You know, so you can get the lay of the land and stuff." She looked uncertainly at Kuwabara. "Detectives do that, right?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," he replied, head craning backward so he could study the ornately painted ceiling. Though Kuwabara did not recognize the subject matter of the fresco at first, he thought the man holding a skull seemed familiar until he remembered a scene from 'Hamlet' he had had to reenact in literature class. "Oh, Horatio!" he muttered, eyes lighting up. "Sweet."

But not matter how much he liked seeing a somewhat familiar face in this world of cold gray stone, Kuwabara couldn't shake the feeling that the eye sockets of the leering skull were…

"What're you looking at?" asked Yusuke.

"Nothin,'" said Kuwabara. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled in place. "Can we move on, please? This place is giving me the willies?"

They did so without complaint.

* * *

Keiko gestured at the spectacle around them, walking backward down the aisle so she could project her voice at the boys. "This," she said, "is the theatre itself. We do performances and rehearsals in here. Pretty neat, huh?"

Neither Yusuke nor Kuwabara could really speak: they were too busy looking, and even though the theatre was dark it still cut an impressive figure. The boys stood in an aisle that bisected the hundreds of seats around them like a snake cutting through tall grass. Directly in front of them lay the stage, a monster made of dark wood that was preceded by an orchestra pit, and above them was a huge chandelier made of silver and wood and crystal. The seats had been pattered with dark blue velvet that bordered on black, and the walls (the ones that were not filled by box seats, wooden sculptures of nymphs and dryads and all the things the boys paid little attention to, or obscured by the balcony level shadowing their heads) were covered with dark silver cloth that muffled echoes and blocked outside noise. The domed ceiling arched tall above them, taller than any roof they had ever seen in Human World, and all of it was as beautiful as a Degas painting.

Kuwabara shivered when he saw the chandelier. He did not know why.

"It's pretty," Yusuke admitted when Keiko started pressing him for an opinion, and she scowled.

"Just like a boy," she said under her breath, and she turned on her heel and walked off. "Back here, please."

They marched up the steps to the stage, and when Yusuke spoke—"Wait up!"—it felt like his voice had been sucked out of his body and thrown toward the sea of seats. He stopped, turning to look out over the audience from the lip of the stage.

"Hell-oh-oh there!" he called, once again feeling like his voice had flown off into the dark all on its own. "These acoustics are craaaaaay-zeeee!"

"This was made to be an opera house, so the acoustics don't need any microphones to get the voices to the back of the house," Keiko explained. "Come on. You can fool around later."

They wandered farther onto the stage, way back where there was hardly any light at all. Scenery dangled on ropes above their heads, suspended from metal catwalks alongside huge stage lights and colored scrims.

"That's where you saw the ghost?" Kuwabara asked, stopping so he could point.

Keiko pointed to the far left of the wide stage. "More over there. There's nothing to see now, though."

Kuwabara shrugged. "Still nice to know. I don't sense anything from that spot, for what it's worth."

"Mm-hmm," said Keiko, but she wasn't really listening. "Come on, back here," she said, and she led them unflinchingly into the darkness. Her hands collided with the door, smooth metal making her palms chill, and she threw it open with a clang. Light poured onto her face and hair.

"This is where all the dressing rooms and stuff are," she said. "The only way to learn your way around back here is to get yourself lost and then find your way out again. Tours will go right over your head—trust me, I know." She hefted the bag on her shoulder a little higher. "Come this way. You can meet my teacher and ask her questions if you want." Keiko paused. "Tell her you're interested in becoming students, and that you're my friends. That'll keep her from wondering."

"But I don't want to become a ballerina!" Kuwabara protested.

"Who said anything about becoming a ballerina?" Keiko said, rolling her eyes. "This is also a martial arts dojo. The head of the dance studio is the sensei's younger sister."

The boys seemed relieved.

"But… shouldn't we go talk to the sensei?" Yusuke asked.

Keiko shook her head. "Setsuko-san is the one in charge of admissions. She has the most business sense." She turned away. "Follow me."

And Keiko was right—the backstage area _was_ a maze. Yusuke lost count of how many turns they made, and even though Kuwabara tried to keep track he lost count when Keiko actually walked into a room and out a door on the other side to get to her practice area.

The practice area itself was huge in its own right: a room with a wood floor with just as much square footage as the real stage, plus a little more to mimic the wings (technicolor tape on the floor even outlined where the backstage began and the onstage started). Mirrors on all sides gave dancers good views of their posture, and the room was filled to the brim with people dancing.

"Look at all the girls in leotards," Kuwabara breathed in awe. Keiko shot him a dirty look as his eyes trailed a girl completing an impressive flying leap. The motion stretched her clothing in interesting ways.

They didn't get to watch for very long. A moment later a women decidedly older than the dancers bustled over in her own leotard in tights. Very tall and willowy, she had a face that had been beautiful before she tanned too much and started to develop sunspots. Still, she seemed like a nice lady with a wide smile to Kuwabara, especially when she leaned over and kissed everyone on both cheeks. The pleasant scent of clean powder lingered after.

"I don't know who any of you are but I love you anyway!" she said, making the boys' jaws drop, and then she pulled back a bit. "Oh, I know _you_. Keiko-chan!"

Yusuke suppressed a laugh. He'd never been allowed to call Keiko 'chan,' and it sounded very out of place.

"This is my boyfriend Yusuke and his friend Kuwabara," Keiko said, eyes soft when she looked at her teacher. "They're interested in the martial arts school. Can I show them around? They'd like to observe a few lessons with Takeru-sensei before really signing on."

"But of course!" Setsuko said, bubbly and bright with her graying hair pulled into a bun so tight it stretched back the skin around her eyes. "Rehearsal starts in half an hour, so be sure to have them settled by then, yes?"

"Of course," said Keiko. She gave the boys a loaded look.

"Oh, um, it's nice meeting you, Setsuko-san," Kuwabara said, finally getting what Keiko had been trying to make him do. Yusuke grinned and nodded along, letting Kuwabara do the talking.

"Oh, the pleasure is mine, I'm sure, and please have a good time!" Setsuko said, and she flounced off. "Faster, dear, and keep that leg straight!"

"She's… nice," said Yusuke, watching her correct a person's faulty pirouette.

"Eccentricity is her modus operandi," Keiko said. "I love her so much. She's like a second mother to all of us."

"I can tell," said Kuwabara. "If her brother's anything like that then I think I might like sitting in on these lessons. Friendly people are cool."

"Yeah, and less likely to kick your ass," Yusuke said mockingly, and the pair fought with the jovialness of friends all the way to the martial arts area.

It was on the opposite side of the dressing room gallery, through yet another maze of hallways and rabbit-warren passages. The light and airy music of the ballet studio faded away as they traveled, and eventually they started to hear something else entirely: a pound of feet that reverberated up through the soles of their shoes, and the walls seemed to shake with people's voices crying out in unison. When Keiko finally opened the doors of the practice room (doors that trembled in their frame, Yusuke noticed) sound rushed out to meet them, making their skin tingle from the shock of many voices.

About thirty people dressed in white _gi_s stood in neat rows, going over a sequence of stances and kicks and punches as one. They punctuated each new stance with a series of cries they seemed to know by heart, bare feet smacking the blue mats on the floor as their hands rent the air and invisible foe. No one appeared to be of a low level, especially not the sensei who stood in front of his battalion of students.

Yes, he in particular had a grace about him, an air of poise, a sense of calm that radiated from his every pore. Every move he made was deliberate, no motion wasted on fancy tricks or flair. His powerful build, bald head, and intense eyes would have made him look like a military man had it not been for the twinkle hiding in his gaze and the smile that lurked behind his teeth.

Yusuke watched Takeru-sensei in awe. _I've never learned this kind of fighting,_ he realized. _Only street brawling. Maybe if I learned this…_

His wry smile came out. _No, I'm past the learning stage. I can only improve on what I have._

The move-set ended; people bounced onto the balls of their feet, shaking out sore muscles, and then the sensei cried in a voice like thunder: "Circle up! We're gonna spar!"

Some people actually whooped in happiness at this prospect, rushing to form a circle with plenty of room in the center. Scanning their faces, Yusuke realized that there was a wide range of people there—most of them were Japanese, of course, but they were young, old, beefy, scrawny, male, female, and even one or two foreigners dotted the lineup.

Takeru moved to the center of the circle, and it was to one of these foreigners he motioned. "You, Christine," he said, pointing to a girl with dark hair pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck. He pronounced her name with a little difficulty, more like 'koo-rees-tee-nuh' than Christine, but Yusuke could tell that he had been practicing to get it right (or at least saying it enough to grow accustomed to it). "And you, Hiroto." He pointed to a handsome Japanese boy about Yusuke's age. "Try for a submission hold. Go."

The two combatants approached one another, each sizing the other one up. Hiroto was tall but thin, more of a runner than a fighter, with long legs and long arms. Christine was built similarly, with long legs and slender hips (Yusuke attempted to pick out her measurements, but her loose _gi_ complicated that effort). She had full lips and wide almonds-shaped eyes the color of cornflowers, and her skin was so pale Yusuke thought she had gone white with fear until he spotted the pale pink spots of color in her cheeks.

"She's pretty," Kuwabara said.

"Yeah, but those eyes creep me out," said Yusuke, watching her. "She hasn't blinked once."

Keiko, standing between them, had her hand over her mouth in horror. Yusuke blinked at her, frowning.

"You OK?" he asked.

"Not Christine," Keiko murmured, and she looked up at Yusuke pleadingly. "She's a beginner."

"So?"

"Her opponent isn't."

"Wait, do you know her?" Kuwabara asked.

"Yes," said Keiko. "She's a classmate at school. I introduced her to this school a few months ago, but I don't think she's ready for a spar with someone in the advanced class." There was real concern in her eyes. "I mean, is she suicidal? I know she's gone through some rough times, but—"

"Uh, Keiko?"

"Hmm?" She snapped out of her worried trance and looked up at Yusuke. "Yeah, what is it?"

"I wouldn't worry too much," he said, staring at the circle of students, and Keiko looked too. Then she gasped.

Hiroto, grim-lipped and frustrated, rushed Christine with a spinning kick. It appeared to make contact; Christine caught the force of the blow against her side, but then her arms wound around the leg and she twisted it, hard, so that Hiroto went spiraling into the ground. Then she danced back, hopping from foot to foot in agitation. The whole display had been neat, quick, and a good show of using an opponent's force against them.

Keiko's jaw dropped.

Hiroto got to his hands and knees, practically fuming, and he rushed Christine with a bellow. He had so much force in his push-off that she was unable to dodge, and his arms wrapped around her waist as he pulled her to the ground. She writhed, managed to get her feet between her body and Hiroto's, and she kicked her heels deep into his gut. The breath went out of him and he slumped to the side, gasping for air. Christine sat up, pounding him on the back with her fist.

"I am sorry," she said, Japanese thick with an accent Yusuke and Kuwabara couldn't place. Her voice was velvety and soft, not like a fighter's at all.

"It's, fine," Hiroto wheezed.

"Winner: Christine!" said Takeru from the sidelines, and his students cheered. "You two go get water." He didn't watch Christine help Hiroto stand up, because that's when he noticed Yusuke, Keiko, and Kuwabara hovering in the doorway. "Oh-ho, visitors!"

"I'm from the ballet studio," Keiko said, taking charge and stepping forward. "These two are my friends. They're interested in joining."

"Well, then, it's great to meet you!" Takeru-sensei beamed. "Christine and Hiroto were just going to go get water. You can ask them anything you like, then come back and finish watching the lesson. I'll be around afterward if you wanna chat."

"Thank you very much," Keiko said, bowing from the waist, and Yusuke and Kuwabara mimicked her. The sensei smiled again and turned back to the class, picking out two new sparring partners.

"Hey," said Hiroto as he walked over. Christine dogged his steps. "I'm Hitano Hiroto. Good to meet you." He bowed to them all. "Move out, though. Sensei doesn't like chatter."

The five of them went into the hall and then down it, to a room that used to have been a dressing room but was now a locker room (complete with lockers and everything). A cooler on a table provided the fighters with drinks, and then they all sat down on the floor—there weren't any benches or chairs.

"It's been a while since I've seen you outside of school, Christine," Keiko said, sitting next to the foreign girl. "How have you been?"

"I have been well, Keiko-san," she said in her clipped, formal speech. "And you?"

"Oh, I'm fine," said Keiko. "But can I ask, where did you learn to fight like that? Last time I saw you fight you were…" She stopped talking, looking like she's said too much.

But Christine wasn't fazed. "Clumsy? Oafish? Weak?"

Keiko appeared to be mortified beyond belief. "I, uh—"

Christine chuckled darkly. "I know. There is no need for embarrassment. I was the worst in the entire class."

"But today you were good today!" Keiko said, frustrated. "You only started a few months ago—I was there, I saw you. You couldn't do anything like what you did today; not even close. How did you improve that quickly?"

The dark-haired foreigner seemed to draw up into herself like a turtle pulling back into its shell. "I have a good teacher," she said stiffly, and her eyes flickered to Hiroto.

Hiroto sighed. "And no, she _doesn't_ mean our sensei. She's got somebody else on the side. She won't tell anybody who."

"Christine?" Keiko said, looking at her pleadingly, but Christine didn't answer. She just stood up, wiped her forehead on the sleeve of her _gi_, and walked out without another word.

"She gets that way when you press her too much," Hiroto said, rolling his eyes. "Nobody in the dojo can stand her."

Keiko was about to protest when Yusuke spoke. "What do you mean?" he asked, brows knitting together. His detective instincts were rising up.

"Well, think about it," Hiroto said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. When no one seemed to understand he asked, in disbelief: "Ever hear of Giovanni Stone?"

Yusuke had not. Neither had Keiko. Kuwabara, however, had.

"You mean that American MMA champion?" Kuwabara said. "Yeah, he's really famous. What about him?"

Hiroto smirked. "He's her dad."

Kuwabara's jaw dropped. "He was an international champion for like, eight years running or something! What's his daughter doing in Japan?" He looked from Keiko to Hiroto, face begging for an answer.

But Keiko shook her head. "I have no idea. She transferred to my school this year and we've become friends and everything, but lately she hasn't been speaking to me and she's never told me anything about herself, not even when I asked."

"Hell, at least she talks to you," Hiroto griped. "She just ignores us."

Yusuke's brain filed all of that away for further investigation. Standoffish, loner tendencies, weird unblinking eyes (though that didn't have much to do with anything besides Yusuke's preferences in women)… it was worth remembering.

"So how long have you been with the school?" Yusuke asked Hiroto, wanting to change the subject.

He didn't get to answer right away. The door to the room opened. Christine walked in.

"I forgot," she said blankly, "my towel." She went to a locker and started turning the combination dial.

"Oh, about two years now," said Hiroto, all casual and chill. He was trying to ignore Christine just as hard as she was trying to ignore him. "Me and some of the other students here go way back. It's nice—" the next line was aimed directly at Christine "—to have friends, you know?"

Christine slammed her locker shut, but her expression gave no indication that she heard. She threw the towel around her neck and walked out, bare feet padding quietly across the tile floor. Yusuke noticed, as she passed him, that she had some of the ugliest feet he had ever seen in his life: short, gnarled toes, muscular arches, and nails that looked like fence posts that had been trampled in a stampede.

_I wonder if she's related to this somehow_, he thought, a_nd I wonder how she improved so fast, too._

* * *

Four months prior to the day she met Yusuke Urameshi and Kazuma Kuwabara, Christine Daae hadn't thrown a punch in her life. She had not been, in fact, interested in martial arts at all.

The story behind her seemingly sudden interest is not one paved with fond memories. In fact, some would say it was the worst time in Christine's short life. It's not the sort of story you tell children at bedtime, and it's not the sort of story Christine is inclined to tell at all.

But then, you're not a child, now are you?

So shall I have her tell it?

Or maybe...

Maybe I should have _him_ tell it.

* * *

_NOTES (PLEASE READ):_

_This story blends my love of "The Phantom of the Opera" with my love of Yu Yu Hakusho. This story is set 100% in the world of YYH, just with storyline changes. It's not a crossover. It uses the storyline of Phantom, only tailored to fit the YYH characters. "Christine" is more like an OC named in homage to "The Phantom of the Opera" than an actual crossed-over character. She's also a bit of a reimagining of the Christine from the play/book. Not 100% the same one._

_THIS IS AN "AU" (alternate universe) STORY! Please disregard canonical "errors" as such. Hiei and Kurama are explained in future chapters. But for now, all you need to know is that Yusuke and Kuwabara are spirit detectives. That is all. There's still a Human/Demon/Spirit World. Yaaay._

_This is kinda-sorta a "gloomy crackfic," if such things exist. Please look at it with tolerance. I know it's far-fetched._

_The people who might (might!) enjoy this will be fans of "The Phantom of the Opera." Otherwise, references and fun similarities might go over your head._

_Please know that my decision to not cast a YYH girl as "Christine" was a long and drawn-out battle. Neither Botan as "Christine" nor Keiko as "Christine" worked out (it messed up which boy played which role or screwed with canon more thoroughly than I was willing to allow). So now we have 'Christine,' a reimagining of the character from the novel._

_The thing that made me really buckle down (I had been planning this fic around Keiko for months with little success) and decide to use 'Christine' as "Christine" was when I was given her new, fresh-for-this-fic backstory. I say "given" because it just fell into place, probably a present from an alien who likes to pick around inside my messed up head, lol. The backstory really grounded the character in why she was at the dojo. I could justify neither Botan nor Keiko, and that lack of purpose made the fic pretty implausible._


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